


Queen of the Stars

by hapakitsune



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 19:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14984216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: Padmé prepares for her coronation.





	Queen of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bessyboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessyboo/gifts).



> I started writing this for a podfic thing, got totally sidetracked, and never finished it. Sorry Bess!! I turned it into a small piece to feel less guilty about my life choices.

The white foundation paint is cold against her skin, startling goosebumps down her cheek and neck. A shiver runs through her. Sabé pulls back, brow creasing—and how funny to look at her doing that, to see her own face reflected. Panaka did an excellent job with her. Padmé thinks that beneath this make-up and the stiff gown she wears, even their own mothers wouldn’t be able to distinguish them. 

“Milady?” Sabé says. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Padmé says. “Just a bit of a chill.”

Sabé nods and reapplies herself to Padmé’s makeup. First comes the heavy layer of white paint, thick and uncomfortable on her skin. Then the powder, to set the paint, and then the careful application of the beauty spots on her cheeks—her choice, from the archives of Naboo—and then the red of her mouth and the slash splitting her lower lip. By the time Sabé is finished, Padmé’s face feels stiff and unmovable. Which perhaps is the point; it’s easy to maintain an expressionless façade when she fears she might crack if she does anything more than a slight smile. 

Rabé is combing through her hair, fingers gentle as she begins to separate strands for a plait. They’ve practiced this part before, sat with Padmé staring at her own reflection as they turn her, bit by bit, from Padmé Naberrie into Queen Amidala, rightfully elected ruler of Naboo. When she looks at her face she doesn’t see herself, but every king and queen that came before her, who turned Naboo into the place of beauty and peace that it is. She feels, suddenly, that fourteen years isn’t old enough. 

Each piece of jewelry, of clothing, is an additional weight upon her. The Jewel of Zenda in its crown is the last piece to be added, and with it Padmé feels her destiny lock into place. No matter what else she is, no matter who else she may become, her face will be enshrined in memory. 

Rabé pats her shoulder; she can hardly feel it through the thick padding of her gown. “You’re ready, milady.”

Padmé rises to her feet unsteadily, unused to the additional weight upon her. She offers a brief prayer up to Shiraya, asks for guidance, and closes her eyes for a moment to center herself. She has spent her short life training for this; she was chosen.

Then she’s taking the stairs with practiced, careful steps, and she’s walking through the ancient halls of the royal palace as outside she hears the swell of the crowd come to see her coronation. Her handmaids fan out behind her, familiar and comfortable. Perhaps out there is her family, though she doesn’t know if the would be able to make the trip to the city. She had invited them, of course; but she hasn’t seen them since she was sent to school, and in some ways they are strangers to her. Do they take pride in who she has become, or do they feel as distant from her accomplishments as she does from the country girl she once was?

When she steps outside into the balmy air, the roar of the crowd rises in volume. The priestess of Shiraya is waiting for her, smiling faintly as Padmé approaches. Padmé cannot quite bring herself to look at the crowd, not just yet. Instead she looks up to the sky, feeling the warmth of the sun through her makeup and heavy brocade gown. She loves her planet with a fierce passion and pride she cannot give a name to, can only compare it to the love ordinary children feel for their mothers: a sense of ownership but also gratitude and above all, absolute devotion. A tremor of cold goes through her as she realizes, quite clearly, that she would die for Naboo. She would do it willingly, if it would keep her home safe.

“Are you ready?” Sabé asks from just behind her. Her hand rests, briefly, between Padmé’s shoulder blades. 

“Yes,” Padmé says, and she steps forward to bend her knee and accept the crown upon her young and solemn brow.


End file.
